Wuthering high: a bard academy novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

the aisle gives me a sharp look. Next to me, Heathcliff glares at the Guardian and leans forward a little as if to protect me from the Guardian’s gaze. I’m not sure what that’s about, but apparently Heathcliff has taken it upon himself to protect me. I guess this is better than killing me.
    Headmaster B continues.
    “Also on that page, you’ll notice that, in the vein of not wasting time, frivolous distractions from your studies are not allowed at Bard Academy. This includes cellphones, pagers, laptops, electronic games.”
    At this rule, the chapel erupts in protests. Apparently skipping Christmas isn’t nearly as bad as going without your PlayStation. The Guardians rough up some of the louder offenders, and then everybody else falls silent. No one wants to become a human pretzel.
    “Now,” continues Headmaster B, “if boys will file out to the left, and girls to the right, we’ll begin the process of checking you in.”
    As we stand, Heathcliff scowls. He seems reluctant to leave me. For the first time, I notice that he doesn’t have any luggage. I’ve got a rolling suitcase, a backpack, and a Bed-in-a-Bag (Mom’s doing). But he has nothing. Just his lighter and the folder they’ve passed out.
    “Um, see you around?” I say to him.
    He says nothing, but watches me leave. I can feel his eyes on me the entire way out of the chapel.

Four
    “This is totally bogus,” complains the girl standing in line in front of me. She’s talking in an exaggerated California surfer-girl accent. “I mean, like, oh — my — God, I cannot live without my iPod.”
    I watch as the guards confiscate mini TVs and DVD players, BlackBerrys, cellphones and Palm Pilots, iPods and Nanos, PSPs, Xboxes, even laptops — basically, anything you can think of that might make life tolerable in the middle of nowhere. Even our hair dryers and curling irons are confiscated, which to me is the worst thing of all. It means that my hair isn’t going to be coming out of a ponytail until I leave this place. Not that I have anyone here I want to impress exactly, but it’s the principle of the thing.
    “Is this school run by the Amish or something?” says someone else behind me. “I am so not giving up my PSP.”
    I’ve got a hand-me-down laptop from Dad — it’s four years old and it only does dial-up — but it’s a computer anyway, and how else am I supposed to check my e-mail? And I guess I can kiss blogging on MySpace good-bye. My last entry said: “Am off to an island off the coast of Maine. If you don’t hear from me in twenty-four hours, call for help.” I guess I’ll find out how much my MySpace pals really care about me.
    The thought of being without e-mail, IM, or MySpace is just too much. Surely there are at least computer rooms here? I mean, it’s the new millennium. How are we supposed to do our classwork without computers? Do they expect us to write with quill pens?
    I shiver. And what is up with the AC blasting in here? It’s freezing. Seriously. It’s at least twenty degrees colder in here than it is outside. It’s like the dark, Gothic setting just sucks away heat.
    I’m getting closer to the end of the line, where Headmaster B is standing. She is watching Guardians search through backpacks and luggage. The bouncers confiscate anything that runs on batteries, as well as “contraband,” which includes drugs, CDs, DVDs, games, and magazines.
    I inch forward and watch as the surfer girl has her bag searched.
    “Do you know who my dad is?” the surfer girl says. “He’ll be suing all of you. My psychiatrist says I can’t be without my iPod, okay? It’s for my mental health.”
    The Guardians looking through her bags take the iPod anyway.
    I slip my mobile flip-phone into the waistband of my jeans and pull my sweater down over it. There’s no way I’m going to be without my phone. I don’t care what they say about the digital-free zone. There’s got to be somewhere on this campus where phones work.
    I